


Four Sides

by WonderMint



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-08-18 15:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8166710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderMint/pseuds/WonderMint
Summary: There were four sides to every story—every tale, yarn, journey, story.  He was learning that now, slowly and quietly, but he learned.  Surely as he stalked through the thickets of his strange world, he was learning its rules, and its rules were always four.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this little thing for a contest on PonyIsland, for a unique prompt event. I was asked to free-associate a number of things, some of which took a detour through Minecraft territory. I was then given the following prompts:
> 
> Theme: Enchanted Forest  
> Prompt: Finding oneself in a strange place  
> Unique prompts: Square, archer, and silent
> 
> I was additionally inspired by the Kobolds in FFXIV. Long live the 789th!
> 
> I'd forgotten all about it until I chanced to read it again. It is technically fanfic, so I suppose I should share. :o

There were four sides to every story—every tale, yarn, journey, story. He was learning that now, slowly and quietly, but he learned. Surely as he stalked through the thickets of his strange world, he was learning its rules, and its rules were always four.

 

First, one must survive—live, quicken, breathe, survive. The bow by his side was his light in the world, illuminating that which would kill and that which would sustain. Always he had considered it a toy, a frivolous, wasteful, extravagant toy, but now he treasured it like a part of his own body. Now at rest, now raised, now drawn, now fired, now at rest again. A forest boar slain by his arrows. Another day without hunger.

 

Second, one must be silent—secret, quiet, still, silent. One could not be hunted by that which could not hear. The bowman learned to move with the same stealth as the creatures that haunted his steps, and soon he haunted theirs, two steps forward, two to the side, sing the song around again. Now he was a ghost in the wind. Now he was a legend only whispered. Now he was a creature of the forest, of the sky, of the rock and of the sea.

 

Third, one must be cautious—deliberate, considered, pensive, cautious. The carefree dance was now a cat's paw stepping lightly on the sand, testing to see if it will give. One, two, three, four to count until he is sure, look left, look right, look left, look right. Look behind, but not regularly, not predictably, not a playbook, not a pattern. Look when the shadows under your feet do not expect and do not have time to flee. And when you place your feet, always know where to run to when the unexpected happens, always keep in mind the way that you will go when your predictions are false. Be the cat's four paws, not his nine lives.

 

Fourth, one must adapt—change, flow, learn, adapt. The rush of the river seemed headlong, but it flowed around every obstacle that came its way. The boy learned daily, becoming like his fears until they feared him in turn, lifting his bow until the string sang his name. Soon he was a man, shaped to fit his surroundings as the river flowed into the sea, growing as tall as the great oak he climbed. Long and lone were the hours, quiet and deep were his thoughts. And while many change without knowing, he knew, he truly knew the change, the knowledge deep in his soul. Lifting his dirt-stained hands in the dappled light, he could see the rough angles and rugged muscle. His shadow spoke to him of straight back and squared shoulders, no longer the figure of a boy playing with toy arrows.

 

And then one day he found something new—novel, unexpected, young, new. Smoke rising in the distance, the smell of cooking meat, tracks in the forest, and as he drew close an unusual sound. The bowman followed the signs, hunting the new creature before he could be hunted back. There, before the fire, he found it. A large creature, two legs and two arms sitting before the fire much like he did every evening. In its hand was a long metallic sword, the other hand drawing a stone along its edge. Shhhhhk. Shhhhhk. Shhhhhk. Shhhhhk. The sound of a weapon becoming more deadly.

 

Survive. Without thinking, the bow was lifted to readiness, arrow nocked and pointed at the creature's head. He hesitated. The creature was remarkably like him, squared shoulders, thick muscles, straight back, long legs.

 

Silent. He couldn't say at first what emotion stirred in his breast when he lowered his bow, but after a moment's thought he settled on respect. Respect for the creature in front of him who had survived as he had survived. Who hunted as he hunted. Who dressed as he dressed. Who lived as he lived. Long ago, he recalled, he had known others like himself. He had forgotten the light of companionship, collaboration, cooperation, community. Another creature like himself... would it not be a sin to extinguish it? The other creature too adhered to the rules of survival.

 

Cautious. A moment to think. With a stick he scrawled a figure in the dirt. A large square sat upon the flat ground, and in the sky the sun basked upon it. He took a moment to ensure the sun's lines were absolutely straight and its corners beautiful. He imagined his four rules were the faces of the large square. No matter how the square stood in the light of the sun, he understood, two of its faces were lit and the other two lived in shadow. Adaptation and survival competed with silence and caution. He would have to make a choice.

 

Adapt. He took the twig in both hands and snapped it cleanly, breaking his silence in twain. The creature before him looked up, smaller face meeting his beneath a mop of unruly hair woven with leafy twigs. He remembered creatures like this from his dim childhood. It was like him, but not like him, looked like him, but subtly different. And he understood.

 

There were four sides to every story. And he knew he wanted to see all four sides to hers.


End file.
